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After the 6-1 massacre of Southampton, they were quick to troll on Twitter, pointing out that Daniel Sturridge had scored more domestic goals (four) than Rooney (three).

And Sturridge lives in a hospital.

He has his own hospital car parking space. Apparently, Juergen Klopp is considering holding future team talks in the hospital waiting room to save time.

But it's not only Liverpool's walking wounded who are scoring.

Divock Origi knocked in a hat-trick at Southampton and there was a real concern that he didn't exist.

There was a rumour that Brendan Rodgers got so carried away with the company credit card that he just made up signings to satisfy his addiction.

But Origi is actually a real person, a footballer who scores goals.

Already, he's overqualified to play for Manchester United.

And the Reds are at a loss for words. This is all too much.

For two years, they had learned to live with the despair, but the new hope is confusing them.

Previously, they always knew where they stood with Rodgers, which was nowhere.

The rules and relationships were clearly delineated.

Rodgers talked a great game and Liverpool never played one.

He spent more money on virile young men than the Kardashians and Reds supporters slowly lost the will to live.

Rodgers' post-match comments were stranger than the lyrics of Sun Ho's China Wine and the Anfield faithful shrugged them off, like relatives ignoring a drunken uncle peeing in a plant pot at a family wedding.

There was no room for misinterpretation. Rodgers was woeful and Liverpool fans were martyrs wallowing in the mediocrity, their dreams still haunted by images of Mario Balotelli in a technicolour tea-cosy hat.

And then Klopp comes along and messes everything up.

He's got the Reds winning and their supporters yearning, wishing and hoping. This is dangerous. The last time they were wishing and hoping in Liverpool, Steven Gerrard went down like a breakdancing octopus.

SIMPLE

Ever since the Premier League title collapse of 2013/14, life at Anfield has been simple.

They asked for lots of money from wealthy American benefactors. And then they wasted it on European shopping sprees.

It was kind of like a long weekend with Paris Hilton, but instead of bringing home Prada and Rolex, they came back with Iago Aspas.

And yet, somehow, remarkably, Klopp has got the clapped-out old banger working. He's oiled the rusty engine and found a spark.

He's even turned Dejan Lovren into a decent defender.

For a while, there was more chance of turning the Fantastic Four into a decent movie.

Now there's talk of Wembley finals, League Cup silverware, Europa League success and Champions League qualification.

It's hard to take in.

There were times against Southampton when Liverpool were untouchable.

There were times under Rodgers when Liverpool were unwatchable.

Any more of this and Reds fans will be sectioned for schizophrenia.

Tonight they go to Newcastle, where the Magpies are laying down faster than German tourists around a hotel swimming pool.

With Newcastle boss Steve McClaren less popular than a Sunderland supporter, another three points surely beckon for Klopp's comeback kids.

The German has got Lovren holding the fort, Origi scoring goals and Sturridge off his sick bed for a full week.

He's got healing hands. He's a maker of miracles. He can do anything.

If he visited Old Trafford, he could even get Rooney to start scoring again.

Neil Humphreys is a British humour columnist and author of three best-selling humorous books about Singapore - Notes From an Even Smaller Island, Scribbles from the Same Island and Final Notes from a Great Island.